They say that you can’t have your cake and eat it. Screw that, I never understood that proverb… I still don’t get it. Who the hell wants cake if you can’t eat it? And exactly what does one do with cake that you can’t eat? Frame it? Sell it on ebay? And what if someone held a gun to your head… or the State passed a new law making it mandatory for you to eat the fucking cake or face a lifetime of corks up your ass and hawking cigarettes from fellow inmates… could you eat it then? It’s just cake afterall… Marie Antoinette can testify to that.
But you can’t have your bread buttered on both sides. Now that I understand – it would be a waste and somewhat moronic to butter both sides of your bread before you eat it... kinda like wearing boxers AND briefs... pointless and unnecessary. It reminds me of a little incident that occurred a few weeks ago.
It was one of them hot nights on the Highveld… y’know the kind where it’s impossible to keep your doors closed and the early evening breeze feels more like a thick slab of hot air that sticks to your skin, making empty promises of rain yet to come. Even the insects were restless, buzzing about or hiding in cooler corners.
The lights were turned off in a desperate attempt to curb the heat, and we lay sprawled on all three couches bored and flustered, blindly swatting away predatory mosquitoes that were only identifiable by the endless drone of buzzing that seemed to get louder as they zoomed in closer to their target - warm unclaimed human flesh (seriously, what kind of demon mosquitoes survive several spot-on swats and an entire aerosol can of insecticide?).
Anyways, it wasn’t long before the sweltering silence was punctured by a piercing screech and the sound of three voices shrieking into the black night. The sudden ensuing chaos and mayhem injected some much needed adrenaline into our veins and before we knew it, we all dashed out of the house to see what was going on.
We got to the scene just in time – before anyone else could bolt out of their doors – and at first it was difficult to establish exactly what was going on. But it all became quite apparent in no time. One of the neighbours’ daughters’, a 17 year old Nadia, told her parents that she had some homework to do with her best friend and other neighbour’s daughter, Aaliya. But instead of going to Aaliya’s house, Nadia took a brisk walk around the corner and once out of sight, got into her 21 year old boyfriend - Carlo’s - car and went off for a long drive.
Suspecting that his sister was up to no good, Danyal went to look for Nadia but couldn’t find her anywhere. He called Aaliya who said that she hadn’t heard from her all evening. Worried and on edge, he stood outside Aaliya’s house pondering his next move when an unsuspecting Carlo strolled around the corner with Nadia gazing merrily from the passenger seat. Livid, Danyal attacked the car and Carlo came to an abrupt halt (hence the screech) before Danyal lunged at him pulling him out of his car window, beating the shit out of him…
And then we heard the shrieking:
Danyal: That’s my Sister you fucker
Carlo: I didn’t touch her…
Danyal: Don’t lie to me
Carlo: We didn’t do anything!
Nadia: Stop it Danyal, Stop!
Danyal: Fuck you…
At this point, the entire street was either peaking through their windows or standing on the side of the road staring wide-eyed at the scene being played out in front of us, munching on a huge bag of Sweet Chili Doritos being passed around, too entertained to intervene. There’s nothing like a free real-life theatre production playing out before your very eyes. It feeds those dramatic chromosomes born from the seeds of tedium in suburbia.
And just when we thought it was over, we heard a loud voice interject angrily. It was Nadia’s father:
Father: I knew it, I knew it
Danyal: What the fuck do you think you’re doing
Carlo: But we didn’t do anything
Nadia: Leave him alone
Father: I knew it
Danyal: That’s my SISTER!
A few more punches and kicks flew around (it was like watching Kung-Fu Panda in slow motion) before both father and brother dragged Nadia’s ass back into their house and Carlo sped off like he was competing with Schumacher for the F1 title.
And the rest of us just stood there… still wide-eyed… jaws either dropped or still munching contemplatively on the remnants of the pillaged Doritos bag.
As we turned around and walked back to our house, I could still hear Danyal defending his sister’s honour and I couldn’t help but think to myself, how arrogant and supercilious of him… like his sister was this little perfect delicate flower that could do no wrong… like she didn’t have a mind of her own… like she wasn’t responsible for all the decisions she’s ever made and naturally anything she did, no matter how evil on the Richter Scale would not render her answerable for any of her actions but automatically hold the other person liable. What a load of bull…
And as I walked away, I wondered how many “sisters” were defiled because of Danyal. All those women he picks up on the weekends… and late on Wednesday nights when he thinks no one is watching but forgets the CCTV carefully hidden on every street corner… all of them are someone else’s sister / daughter / mother / friend.
Exactly how narcissistic do you have to be to think that it’s ok if you do something questionable that indirectly offends someone else, but that it's completely unacceptable when someone else does the same to you? So in Danyal's case, it’s perfectly ok if he does it to someone else's sister, but it’s not ok when someone else is doing it to his sister.
Yeah, you can’t have your bread buttered on both sides.
Yeah, you can’t have your bread buttered on both sides.